


Then We Should All Die Together

by 0uter_space



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Bobby needs a hug, Bobby | Trevor Wilson-centric, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Self-Harm, Sort Of, Suicidal Thoughts, but like his best friends died give him some slack, like seriously this is pretty sad and angsty, people think Bobby is heartless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28295901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0uter_space/pseuds/0uter_space
Summary: Someone must have taken a knife to his heart.A knife to his heart and a knife to his lungs and his stomach and his throat because he’s no more alive than his best friends who are buried six feet under.-Or-Bobby’s first stages of grief after his best friends’ deaths.
Relationships: Bobby | Trevor Wilson & Alex Mercer, Bobby | Trevor Wilson & Alex Mercer & Luke Patterson & Reggie Peters, Bobby | Trevor Wilson & Luke Patterson, Bobby | Trevor Wilson & Reggie
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	Then We Should All Die Together

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically just my take on how Bobby might have felt/reacted after 3/4 of Sunset Curve were lost to hot dogs. Prepare for much angst. Also, warnings for mentions of blood and sort of self harm. This is only really rated mature because it’s pretty heavy.   
> Title from I See Fire by Ed Sheeran.

They were brothers, all of them.

When Bobby’s anxieties got ahold of him, when he felt an all consuming self-hatred wash over him, drowning him and pulling him away from the boys he called his family, they wouldn’t hesitate to grab his hand and yank him back up, even if it meant falling into the crashing waves themselves.

When his parents forgot he existed, didn’t show up for one of their gigs after they promised they’d go for the 50th time (Bobby had no idea why he kept believing them), they provided him with the love that he lacked at home. 

And when his deepest darkest thoughts overwhelmed him, the ones colored a murky blue that clouded all reason when they flooded his head, they’d be his flashlight and guide him back to the real world where he knew that people cared.

He didn’t need parents. Hell, he didn’t even need his sanity. He had Luke, Alex, and Reggie. They cared and that was enough.

THEY were enough.

But god didn’t care.

Bobby doesn’t even believe in god, but he needed someone to blame it on so that he didn’t blame himself. He needed someone to scream at under the dark blanket of the night, and when his throat got scratchy and raw, to watch the tears that silently streamed down his cheeks just so that he didn’t have to be the only one in pain. It already hurt.

He doesn’t remember much from that night, but he remembers the blind rage. A hair tearing, fists flying, heart wrenching, chest imploding rage that tore scream after scream from his throat.

He remembers returning to earth in a heap on the bathroom floor, surrounded by the glass shards of his shattered mirror and his crushed soul, crimson smeared on the ground and drying on his skin.

He remembers pleading with his face in his hands and his heart on the cold tile beneath his trembling form, that maybe he could close his eyes and will it to stop beating before he had to open them again.

Bobby’s skin was ripping at the seams.

He felt the life drain out of the wounds like the blood that oozed from his knuckles and dripped down his limp hands, pooling at his fingertips.

Someone must have taken a knife to his heart.

A knife to his heart and a knife to his lungs and his stomach and his throat because he’s no more alive than his best friends who are buried six feet under.

Because he remembers the flashing lights, and the howling as all his worst nightmares drove right by him.

An ambulance siren.

Something so easy to ignore when it’s nothing but a wailing in the distance. But then your best friends die and you can never hear that noise again without seeing their cold, pale faces and empty, dead eyes. 

**Author's Note:**

> So that was definitely something... hey, wanna go get some street dogs?


End file.
